CHAPTER XIII   THE POSTERN FACED WITH POINTS OF STEEL

About three months after this event the captives were aroused from their sleep by the door of their prison being thrown open. Accompanied by four men-at-arms was Sir Denis de Valadour.

Instinctively both lads realized that something untoward was at hand, and starting to their feet they steeled themselves to meet the coming ordeal with stout hearts.

"Greetings, gentles," exclaimed Sir Denis, with a forced attempt at a smile. "Your pardon for this intrusion, for 'tis unbetimes; yet methinks the nature of my visit will make amends for all things. To be brief, after due consideration, 'tis my bounden duty to admit that I owe ye courteous treatment."

He paused and eyed the lads narrowly, endeavouring to note the effect of his words. But, receiving no reply to his somewhat vague utterances, the knight continued—

"Certes, 'tis strange how the wheel of fate is ordered by small matters. When my brother, Sir Yves, fell beneath thy father's hand, Master Geoffrey, only his son stood betwixt me and the castle and estates of Malevereux. Henri was ever a lusty youth, and bade fair to live to a green old age—always excepting the chance of dying in harness. Yet, alas and alack! he must needs attempt to swallow a carp's bone, with the result that I am an uncle no longer."

Once more Sir Denis paused, a hypocritical look of sorrow overspreading his saturnine features.

"And mark ye, carp, lordly salmon, and the roast beef ye Islanders boast so much about! On these he was fed by thy father's bounty, while I have given thee but craven fare. Fie on me! Yet I will make amends. As Lord of Malevereux—for such I now am—'tis in my power to do so. More, 'tis my wish. Therefore I give you both your freedom."

The youths could scarce grasp the full significance of the word "freedom." To them the ever-present longing for liberty had grown fainter and fainter, till only a feeble hope was left them. Now, with startling suddenness, freedom awaited them.

"Sir Knight, I thank thee," exclaimed Geoffrey when at length he found words.

"Nay, 'tis nought," replied Sir Denis. "I trust that Malevereux will be at peace with its neighbours. But, fair sirs, of your charity pray for the soul of Henri de Valadour, my nephew. By so doing my reward for the deed is assured."

"When are we permitted to leave the castle?" asked Oswald.

"When ye list. There is no time like the present, fair sirs. But I must needs point out that my act of clemency is ill-regarded by a section of the garrison, therefore 'twould be better to depart secretly. Though the night be dark, the way is easy. Therefore, when we have supped I myself will conduct ye to the postern."

So saying, Sir Denis clapped his hands, and in response to the summons a serving-man entered the cell bearing a trencher loaded with good cheer. After months of poor fare the repast was doubly welcome, though in their excitement the lads could scarce do justice to the tempting viands.

While the meal was in progress the new Lord of Malevereux stood leaning against the wall, the glare of a torch held by one of the men-at-arms throwing his features into strong relief. Was it fancy, thought Geoffrey, that he saw a sinister gleam in the eyes of Sir Denis?

"Are ye ready, young sirs?" asked the baron when the lads had finished their repast. "Then follow me; tread boldly, for there is none to hinder ye."

Traversing three long passages, interrupted by short flights of steps, the Lord of Malevereux stopped before a low archway where strong bars took the place of a solid door. Outside the youths could see the dim outline of a stone wall, feebly lighted by the torch of the attendant man-at-arms, while the twinkling stars beyond seemed to beckon the captives to the freedom that had so long been denied them.

"Here is a cloak apiece," said Sir Denis, as a soldier handed the garments to the lads. "These will not come amiss, I take it, for 'tis cold without. Now, Hubin, unlock the portal, I pray thee."

The man-at-arms, fumbling at a bunch of keys at his waist, at length produced the required article, and, thrusting it into the lock, contrived with much exertion to open the rusty wards.

"'Tis but rarely that men pass this way," explained Sir Denis. "But see, yonder lies thy path. Adieu, fair sirs."

As the twain passed under the archway the grille was closed with a ponderous clang, but with feelings of intense thankfulness the lads realized that they were on the right side of the detaining bolts and bars.

With light steps they traversed the groined passage. Another ten paces and they would be under the canopy of Heaven.

"Hold, Oswald!" exclaimed Geoffrey, grasping his companion by the arm, at the same moment dragging him backwards. "By St. Paul! what have we here?"

Geoffrey's warning came only just in time. Another step would have precipitated them into a gloomy and unfathomable pitfall.

The stars had been obscured by passing clouds, and so intense was the darkness that, although the loom of the country was faintly discernible, the extent of the new danger was totally concealed.

"The false knight hath betrayed us," exclaimed Oswald. "What is to be done?"

"We cannot do better than stand where we are till dawn," replied Geoffrey. "To proceed is to court a speedy death; to return is to suffer a worse fate. Perchance when 'tis light we may find a way."

As he spoke Geoffrey looked towards the open bars of the doorway through which they had just passed. The torches had been extinguished, but a low mocking laugh told the lads that some one was listening and waiting to enjoy their discomfiture.

"Is this the way a knight keeps his pledge?" asked Oswald.

"Why doubt my word?" replied a deep voice that the youths had recognized as that of Sir Denis of Malevereux. "Did I not tell ye the way was open? Fare ye well, then. If so be ye will not profit by my advice, then stay and starve. On the morrow, ay, and many succeeding morrows, I'll watch the struggle 'twixt thy choice of death."

Slowly the night passed. The sky, hitherto slightly overcast, became so clouded that the pitch-like blackness restricted the youths' field of vision to such an extent that they could scarce discern each other.

With the banking up of the clouds a strong wind sprang up, increasing in violence till ere long it blew with terrific violence.

Crouching on the stone floor against the side of the vault-like tunnel, the lads awaited the dawn. The wind pierced them like a knife, and in their scanty clothing their bodies shivered with the cold.

Occasionally they would converse in short broken sentences, debating upon the turn of events and the probable disclosures brought by the dawn. Fortunately, they did not as yet feel the pangs of hunger, thanks to their repast ere they were taken from their prison; but the vague threats in which Sir Denis referred to slow starvation filled them with gloomy fears.

When at length the eastern sky began to assume a vivid crimson hue the lads staggered to their feet, eager to take stock of their surroundings.

Almost at their feet the floor of the passage terminated abruptly, descending into what was undoubtedly a part of the fosse or dry moat. Its depth was not very considerable, being barely twenty feet from the coping to the bottom of the ditch, which was about ten paces broad, with its furthermost side sloping steeply to the normal level of the surrounding land.

But, to the lads' consternation, the whole of the floor of the moat was studded with sharp stakes, each about the height of a man. In serrated rows they stood, so close that it was impossible to essay a leap without being impaled upon one, at least, of the spikes.

Grasping Oswald's hand, Geoffrey leant cautiously forward and examined the wall on either side of the postern. As far as he could see the masonry was smooth and even, so that there was no means of finding a foothold. Above the archway the wall towered to a height of thirty feet, while, from the presence of two loopholes, through which the ends of rusty chains still hung, it was evident that at one time a light drawbridge crossed the moat at this point, forming a means of communication between the postern and the open ground. On a level with the loopholes a row of cross-shaped oyelets, or apertures, for discharging crossbows commanded the approach on this side of the Castle of Malevereux.

"We are fairly trapped," exclaimed Oswald as they completed their examination of the moat. "This passage is like to be our death-chamber."

"What lieth at the other end?" asked Geoffrey. "Methought there was a wide space betwixt the grille and the wall, though yesternight I caught but a brief glimpse in the torchlight."

"We can but see," replied Oswald. "But we must needs wait awhile, till the light is strong enough to overcome the gloom of the archway."

Upon investigation the archway was found to afford no possible means of escape, though, owing to a slight deviation in its general direction, an intervening curve in the masonry hid the outer portion from the observation of a person standing without the gate.

As for the latter, it was composed of wrought iron with massive hinges. The upper part from a distance of three feet from the ground was open, but secured by the bars of the grille, the space betwixt each bar being sufficient to enable a man to insert his head without allowing his body to follow.

Without the door all was quiet. The stone passage, wrapped in sombre gloom, was deserted. Deeming his prisoners perfectly secure, the Lord of Malevereux had purposely neglected to post a sentry at this gate.

"The way is clear," said Oswald. "Could we but squeeze through yon bars, perchance we might lie hidden in some dark recess."

"To what purpose? We should still be within the castle."

"We cannot make our position one whit the worse, Geoffrey. Who knows but that we may be able to escape by some other postern? Thou art the slighter build, though certes, we both are as thin as a stripped distaff. Through with thee, and I'll do my best to follow."

Geoffrey immediately essayed the difficult task, but though he raised one arm well above his head and kept the other close to his side, while his comrade assisted by heaving and pushing, his slender body was too large to pass betwixt the narrow space in the grille. Yet not till he was black in the face and utterly exhausted by his struggle did Geoffrey confess himself beaten.

As the sun rose higher in the heavens the wind died away, and by high noon the atmosphere was in a state of extreme sultriness. Though protected from the fierce rays by the stonework of the arch, both lads began to feel the torture of an agonizing thirst, which was intensified by the tantalizing sight of a small brook meandering through the fields at a short distance from the castle.

Once did Sir Denis, clad in complete armour, approach the bars of the door to gloat over his captives, but after a few moments' stay he went away without a word. Shortly afterwards the lads saw him at the head of a body of mounted men riding rapidly from the castle.

"Yon base caitiff will trouble us no more awhile," observed Geoffrey, pointing towards the receding troop. "Come, now, art willing to hazard a leap?"

"Nay," replied Oswald, regarding the formidable array of spikes with a shudder. "Cold steel I'd face in battle as becomes an Englishman, but, by St. George, to be skewered by a rusty spearhead—for thus I perceive them to be—is more than I can stomach."

"Then I will essay the leap," exclaimed Geoffrey, stripping off his cloak and rolling it into a ball as a protection for his hands. "If I fail perchance my weight will thrust aside sufficient of these spikes for thee——"

"Nay, art mad?" interrupted his companion, laying a detaining hand upon Geoffrey's shoulder.

"Anything but this horrible thirst."

"Methinks that will shortly be assuaged. Mark yon cloud; observe how it draws nigh 'gainst the little wind that blows. Within half an hour 'twill be passing strange if there be not a thunder-storm."

Oswald was right in his surmise. Ever and anon a dull rumble could be heard, the sound gradually increasing in intensity, till, accompanied by incessant flashes of lightning and deafening rolls of thunder, a torrential rain descended.

Eagerly the lads extended their open palms to catch the thirst-quenching moisture, till, feeling greatly relieved, they were glad to retreat to the furthermost end of the archway to escape the fury of the elements.

"Ho, ho! young sirs. What, still here? Why are ye not well on your way to Taillemartel?" exclaimed a gruff voice.

Both youths turned at the sound of the voice, and at the same time a dazzling flash of lightning played upon the steel cap and breastplate of one of the men-at-arms. Geoffrey instantly recognized him as the man who had stayed his advance on the occasion of the memorable joust-day.

"Art hungry?" continued the soldier.

Unable to resist the apparent invitation, the lads made their way to the barred door. Without stood the man-at-arms, with a loaf of rye bread in his hand, held in such a manner that the glare of a torch enabled it to be clearly seen.

Ostentatiously the man cut off a slice with his dagger, then replacing the weapon in a sheath that hung at his right side, he proffered the bread to the prisoners. Ere they could stretch out their hands the soldier conveyed the food to his own mouth, his body shaking with merriment at the lads' disappointment.

Twice he repeated these tantalizing tactics, till, realizing that 'twas no intention on the part of the man-at-arms to provide them with food, Geoffrey and Oswald retired a few steps from the grille.

"What! Too tired to take thy food?" roared the rogue. "Nay, that will not serve. See, here is a tempting morsel."

A sudden inspiration came to Geoffrey. The man had thrust his arm betwixt the bars in order to still further tantalize the famished lads. With a swift and surprising spring Geoffrey threw himself at the door and grasped the fellow's arm by the wrist.

"Quick, Oswald!" he exclaimed.

Oswald had mistaken his comrade's intention, for without attempting to seize the food that was still grasped in the man's hand, he thrust his hand between the grille and laid hold of the soldier's dagger.

The next instant the man had fallen a corpse upon the floor, with his own dagger plunged into the nape of his neck, Geoffrey still retaining his hold of the soldier's wrist.

"One villain the less," exclaimed Oswald triumphantly.

Fortunately, a deafening peal of thunder had drowned the scream of the stricken man. This storm was proving a blessing in disguise to the two desperate youths, for the remnant of the garrison, driven from their posts by the tempest, had already taken shelter.

"I see a way," whispered Geoffrey earnestly. "Here, take yon dagger and strip off the fellow's breastplate."

Without stopping to question his companion Oswald did as he was told, Geoffrey the while holding the wrist of the corpse to prevent it from falling below the grille. A few minutes sufficed to ease the man-at-arms of his steel plate and cap, and, retaining the dagger, the lads ran to the edge of the moat.

"Now dost see, Oswald? I am going to leap upon these spikes holding the breastplate in front of me to turn the points aside. Should I, with the blessing of Heaven and the protection of my patron saint, succeed in my attempt, 'twill be an easy matter to clear aside a space for thee to leap."

"'Tis possible," replied Oswald, as he broke the captured bread and divided it between his comrade and himself. "But why shouldst thou take the honour and the risk of this enterprise? Rather let me essay the leap."

Finding that Geoffrey remained obdurate, the young squire continued—

"'Tis untoward to stand here debating this matter, since every moment is precious. Let us draw lots."

So saying, Oswald pulled two threads of unequal length from his frayed doublet, and, holding them in his hand, allowed one end of each only to be visible.

"To me!" he exclaimed, as Geoffrey drew the shorter thread. "Certes. If I fail I trust my failure will be the means of thy safety."

Grasping the breastplate in front of him so that the hollow side would be uppermost, Oswald boldly leapt into the moat. The steel plate turned aside two of the spear-heads, and in the space thus cleared the squire alighted, though the fleshy part of his right leg was badly lacerated by one of the still standing spikes.

Regardless of the pain, the lad staggered to his feet, and, grasping the shafts of the spears nearest to him, wrenched them from their supports. This done, Geoffrey took a careful leap and alighted close to his companion's side, safe and unhurt.

In fear and anxiety the two lads began to force their way through the maze of up-pointed weapons, expecting every moment to hear a challenge from the towering walls behind them, or the sharp hiss of a shaft from a vigilant bowman; but, thanks to the blinding rain, and the storm being at its height, the sentinels had relaxed their customary watchfulness.

On gaining the edge of the furthermost side of the moat the lads broke into a run, in spite of Oswald's painful wound, for it was expedient that the belt of level ground should be traversed with the utmost despatch.

Without detection they reached the banks of the little stream that they had observed from the postern, now swollen into a foaming torrent. Here, taking advantage of a slight dip in the ground, they followed the course of the stream, since Geoffrey felt certain that 'twas the same that crossed the road 'twixt Malevereux and Taillemartel.

For two days and nights the weary fugitives continued their journey, subsisting on roots and turnips, for the countryside had been swept by a party of marauders, so that not a farm nor a cottage had escaped destruction by fire.

Oswald's wound, also, began to cause great anxiety, for the lack of rest and proper attention had aggravated the injury. But in spite of the great disadvantages under which they laboured, the lads manfully pursued their way, till they were rewarded by the sight of the Castle of Taillemartel.

Encouraged by the prospect of a safe ending of their tribulations, the fugitives quickened their pace, till Geoffrey suddenly came to a halt.

"Do I see aright, Oswald?" he exclaimed. "Behold the banner over the keep."

Oswald shaded his eyes and looked, and as he did so a look of dismay passed over his face. For in place of the mullet and the three stars of the Lysles floated the black eagle of De Chargné—one of the most powerful adherents to the Orleanist cause.